


Healing Professions

by Roselightfairy



Category: Firefly
Genre: Angst, Gen, Male-Female Friendship, Some Humor, i don't really know what i'm doing, men can cry too
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-23
Updated: 2018-07-20
Packaged: 2019-01-21 15:27:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12460602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Roselightfairy/pseuds/Roselightfairy
Summary: They're both healers, in their own way. Simon and Inara become friends.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Set directly after the pilot episode, and uses the Word-of-God reveal that Inara had a terminal illness.

She finds him in the infirmary.

  
She supposes she shouldn’t be surprised – he made Kaylee sleep in there tonight for the express purpose of being able to check up on her, after all, and his sister’s asleep on the counter as well. But for some reason when she goes in there to check on Kaylee, she expects her to be there alone.

  
When she slides open the door, at first all she sees is the two girls asleep. Kaylee’s stretched out flat on the chair-cot in the middle: face smooth, not taut with pain like earlier. The other girl – River, she reminds herself – is just as unconscious, but much less peaceful: she’s curled to the side, all four limbs in a limp pile beside her torso, and her face is drawn, the slack of her mouth downturned and a line in between her brows. Like she’s frowning in pain, even asleep.

It makes Inara want to go to her, press practiced fingers to that crease and smooth it away. She is skilled in taking pain away; it’s one of the reasons clients seek her out. For all Mal’s sniping, a Companion’s job requires more compassion than he’ll ever understand. But the sizzling tension and reactions of today have given way to a delicate equilibrium that she senses a motion towards River would disrupt. She goes to Kaylee first, instead, lowers a hand to her forehead to stroke the hair back from her face, and she’s idly following its path with her eyes when they land on Simon.

He’s huddled on the floor between the two girls, so sad-looking and small that she didn’t even see him until now. His knees are drawn to his chest, forehead resting on them so that dark hair – unruly from the multiple tussles he’s been in today – hides his face. His arms wrap tightly around his shins, drawing the bundle of his body close like twine.

She takes a breath to say – well, she doesn’t know what, and he starts and looks up. His face is a mess: lip fat and split, skin on a cheekbone starting to swell up and turn purple where Mal punched him. His eyes are bloodshot, and his expression looks like rumpled cloth stretched out too soon. “She’s doing fine,” he says too quickly. “I gave her a sedative to make sure she’d stay still when she slept, but I didn’t hurt her or anything – I promise she’ll wake up fine in the morning” –

“Simon.” She interrupts him now, wanting to stop him before he can get himself worked up. It hurts her to hear him try to justify himself, and it looks like it hurts him to talk, too, if that lip is anything to go by. “I trust you.”

He blinks up at her and the look on his face – for the second time today, she notes how lost he looks. “You – you do?”

“You certainly helped her enough earlier today,” she reassures him, and his face fills with a kind of relief that goes beyond just not being blamed. He is a doctor – it must grate on him to have to justify himself, to be thought the inflictor of pain rather than known to be its healer. Instead of remarking on it, Inara folds one of her hands into Kaylee’s and directs her gaze to the other girl. “How is your sister?”

“She’s” – He sighs. “I don’t know.” He gets to his feet, wincing slightly and hanging onto the edge of the counter to pull himself upright. He looks sore, and it stands to reason: Inara doesn’t know the complete specifics of his day, but she knows Mal hit him at least once, and he grappled with the lawman as well. Not to mention whatever he must have done before, getting here, wherever he came from –

She’s not unaccustomed to feeling sympathy, but the wave that washes over her is powerful nonetheless and it’s all she can do not to reach out and help him to his feet. She gets the sense that he wouldn’t appreciate it – not at this very moment – and Kaylee’s hand is still clutched fast in her own. She lets it anchor her in position as Simon finishes the struggle to his feet and turns to sweep a hand across his sister’s face. It somehow encapsulates the motions of checking her forehead for a fever and the affectionate gesture of brushing back her hair that Inara has just given to Kaylee. His hand lingers on her cheek, and Inara wonders if he, too, is trying to smooth over the concerned wrinkles in her face, make it peaceful.

But his own brow furrows as he does so, and Inara stops holding herself back. Placing Kaylee’s hand gently on her chest, she takes the step to Simon and touches his own face, fingers just to the hairline to push a stray strand back. “And how are you?” she asks.

“I’m” – He rubs a hand across his face and grimaces again; the motion reopens his lip and his finger comes away bloody. He looks up to meet her eyes and manages sarcasm, though not as cutting as any she heard him delivering to Mal earlier. “Peachy. Never been better. Can’t you tell?”

“It takes some getting used to,” she says, resting her hand on Simon’s shoulder. “Leaving civilization, coming out here.” She hesitates before making the offer, but it’s pretty clear he could use a friend right about now. “Would you like to come to my shuttle? I can make you some tea.”

“I shouldn’t – I should” – He waves a hand helplessly to indicate the two makeshift beds, the two sleeping young women – “They might” –

Inara knows how to look at people, how to make them do what she wants them to do. In this case, it’s not so much for her own sake, but for his. She keeps her hand on his shoulder, burns her eyes into his, and after only a few seconds sees him relax. “That – tea would be lovely. Thank you.”

She’s glad they don’t run into Mal on their way to the shuttle – not that she doesn’t think she could shout him down, but frankly, after the day they’ve had, none of them need the stress. She slides the door open, ushers Simon in first.

She watches his face as he enters; the slack-jawed expression of awe is the same one every other crew member gave her at first, but she notices that his lasts for only a flash before fading away. Never been in a Companion’s realm before, she diagnoses, but not unfamiliar with finery. He doesn’t touch any of her things – well-trained as a child, surely – but he looks, and his look is not surprised.

When she turns around from starting the kettle, she sees Simon still standing still in the middle of the floor, staring blankly. It’s not so much a surprised stare, though; his eyes are glazed over, and he looks at her uncomprehendingly when she touches him. “Sit,” she says, hand a gentle pressure on his arm until he blinks, shakes his head once, and sinks down onto her couch. “You look like you could use the rest.”

He laughs: a hollow, bitter sound. “Rest,” he echoes. “I’ve forgotten what that is, at this point.”

“You’ve been worried for a long time,” she guesses.

Such statements are more likely to get people to open up than leading questions, and her conjecture is right. “Too long.” He brings a hand to his face; splays the fingers out across his forehead, skin wrinkling at his temples where his thumb and pinky press down. “If I could have gotten there sooner, it might have been – different. For one thing, all this wouldn’t have happened” – He gestures expansively, a hand motion that takes in Inara’s shuttle and implies the rest of Serenity. “And River wouldn’t be” – His voice chokes up. “Maybe I could have stopped them,” he says quietly; then, voice rising in tones of desperation, “Maybe I wouldn’t be so – so helpless” –

The teakettle whistles; Inara stands up and pours the water into the teapot. Tea leaves swirl to the top: her most calming blend; she figures they could both use it. When she looks back over, his face is in his hands and his breathing sounds wet.

She sets the teapot on the table in front of them and slides onto the couch beside him, sweeping an arm around his shoulders. He stiffens at first, but he doesn’t push her away, and she can read from the tension in his body that he’s been starving for gentle touch. “Simon,” she murmurs, “you’re not helpless. You’ve done an incredible thing for your sister. You got her away from them. Brought her to a safe place.”

“Right,” he says. “Safe.” He looks up at her, and his eyes are bright, cheeks smeared with tears. “But for how long?”

Inara withdraws her arm to reach for the teacups and set them out, thinking over her response. “I know he seems cold at times” – and at times he is, she supposes – “but Mal – the captain’s a good man. He won’t throw you off the ship, at least not without any warning.” She smiles slightly – partly to put Simon at ease, partly remembering their first meeting. “Besides, he has no love for the Alliance. He fought with the Independents in the war.”

Simon snorts. “And you think that’ll ingratiate me to him? I’m from the Core.” He stares down at the empty cups (her guest china, not what she uses for clients; there are rules about these things). “When we were kids, River and I used to play Alliance soldiers.” His face softens. “She used to come up with the most outlandish scenarios” –

His voice catches again; the hitching breath he takes is closer to a sob than anything else. He turns his face away from Inara, but she reaches out for it and turns it back around. Doesn’t do him the cruelty of looking in his eyes while he cries, but she can tell he needs to be touched right now, so she draws him into an embrace. Holds him steady while his breath stutters and wetness soaks into the sleeve of her robe.  
“I don’t know what they did to her,” he chokes against her shoulder, “but she’s not – she’s not the same.” He shudders. “She was so brilliant – so bright, and now she’s” –

In a way, there is something gratifying about this, about holding someone so close to her who isn’t paying her. It is the same feeling she gets when she does Kaylee’s hair: that she, like the rest of the crew, is sharing her skills with friends in need. Simon could be a friend, she thinks. She knows enough about the workings of Serenity to know that he will be family, too, eventually – but more than that. He could be a friend.

After long moments, his quiet sobs fade away, and he pulls away, wiping his face on his sleeve. She turns away from him, giving him a moment to collect himself, and pours out the tea. Perfectly steeped and just the right temperature, by now.

She sips in silence, waiting for him to break it. Eventually, finally, his hand joins hers on the table, reaching for his cup. “Thank you,” he says softly. “I needed that.”

She turns to face him again. His eyes are even more swollen than before, cheeks flushed and hair sticking out from his face in damp spikes, but he looks calmer. “I thought you might,” is all she responds.

It’s enough; he looks at her more closely. “You’re a Companion,” he says, and she can tell that he’s realizing. “You” – He waves his hand around. “You understand.”

She smiles. “There’s not so much difference between our careers as some might think. Many people who hire a Companion are looking for healing of some sort – but more a healing of the spirit than of the body.”

“Yeah.” Simon sighs. “I guess my spirit could use some healing.”

She clamps her lips down on the echo that does not even reach her throat. Now is not the moment. She wishes there will never have to be a moment, though her time for denial is running shorter and shorter all the time. Now, she shoves it off just a bit further. “Well, if there’s anything I can do for you, let me know.” She rests her hand on top of his, just for a moment. “I’ll do what I can.”

“Thank you.” He drains his teacup, sets it gently back down on the saucer. “For the offer, and for the tea, and for” – He waves his hand in another gesture meant to encompass all that has passed between them – “well, everything. There’s not much I can do for you, but if you need anything” –

It’s hard to tell if he’s blushing, or if his cheeks are just still red from earlier. Inara smiles to put him at ease. “Thank you, Simon.” There’s not much he can do for her – he doesn’t know, yet, how wrong those words are.

But for now, she smiles closed-lipped, stands along with him when he rises from her sofa with a muttered, “I should” –

“Of course.” She walks him to the door. “Make sure you get some sleep tonight, as well.”

“I will,” he promises. And she doesn’t know if it’s the tea, or the sympathy, or just the relief that a good cry really can provide, but it looks like he actually might.

She closes the door behind him, returns to the couch and pours herself a second cup of tea. It’s been quite a day for all of them, she supposes. And Mal – he doesn’t know what a good decision he’s made, at least for Inara, in bringing a medic on board. In the future, it may well come in very handy for her.

But for now, she thinks, it’s nice to have a friend.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set just after Our Mrs. Reynolds, Simon decides that Inara should receive a bit of a check-up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a reminder that these oneshots will occasionally reference the Word-of-God canon that Inara had some sort of terminal illness. I like to imagine that she would have told Simon about it.

They’ve sailed through the remnants of the net, relief in the air; Wash and Kaylee are applying themselves to their various stations, doing what needs to be done – and before she can make her excuses and head back to her shuttle (she really does still feel a little woozy), Simon stops Inara with a hand on her arm.

“Could you come with me a moment?”

She looks up at him, surprised; there’s a flash of something in his eyes she doesn’t like.  Before her own even have a chance to narrow in suspicion, he elaborates.  “To the infirmary.  I need to check on your head.”

“Why do you” –

“I just want to make sure you don’t have a concussion or anything,” he says lightly.  “From when you fell.”

There’s too much stress on that last word, and that is a definite gleam of amusement in his eyes.  Now she lets her own narrow at him, but protesting now will make it too obvious.  She’s starting to gain back some control of her mental faculties, and she realizes that her defensiveness earlier was already too obvious, and she needs to dial it back.  “Right,” she says instead.  “That, uh, would be a good idea.”

She’s expecting him to pounce when they reach the infirmary, but he doesn’t.  Opens the door for her and makes a motion for her to sit in the chair, like a gallant gentleman.  Maybe he really did buy her story?

He shines a little light in her eyes, asks her to follow the motion of his finger with them.  “Do you feel dizzy at all?” he asks.  “Nauseous?”

“Not any” – She fumbles.  “No.”

“Not anymore, I see.”  A smirk strains at the edges of his mouth.  “Not like when you first succumbed?”

There it is.  She supposes the gracious part of her (buried deep down right now) is glad he’s lightened up enough to tease her, but that’s not really at the forefront at this particular moment.  “Succumbed?” she asks, hoping her voice is threatening enough to stop him.

Not so.  His lips tighten and loosen in waves, like he’s trying very, very hard to suppress a laugh.  “To the Goodnight Kiss, of course.”

“I didn’t” – she starts, but his look tells her that line of protest is dead before she can even start.  She switches tack instead.  “I did _not_ kiss Saffron,” she says hotly.

The smile bursts free, unfurls across his face; internally, she takes back the thing about him being gentlemanly.  “Oh, I know.”

Before she can muster up any kind of enraged response, he steps back and pulls the doctor mantle back on.  “Well, you should be fine, in any case.  Your dosage seems to have been significantly less than Mal’s” –

She commends herself for not flinching.  He’s grinning again, _waiting_ , so she pulls her face as smooth as she can, tries not to give him any satisfaction save an icy glare.

But she makes the mistake of looking at his face for too long, and that smile – his eyes crinkled at the corners, lips stretching around his teeth – it’s looser and more open than she’s ever seen him.  Enough that first her own mask starts to soften, then crumble – and then she’s letting her head fall back against the cot’s headrest and laughing.  Quiet chuckles at first, but then he joins in, and his laugh is higher-pitched than she would have expected, more of a giggle.  So infectious that instead of stopping, she laughs harder, until she’s practically forgotten what started it in the first place.

She stops, finally, when her sides start hurting.  Takes a couple of deep breaths to calm her still-spinning head, and then looks up at Simon again.  “Don’t tell anyone,” she says – phrased as a command, but more of a plea.  There are many reasons she hasn’t confessed her feelings to Mal – reasons that no one on the ship need know – and while she can’t deny the temptation of letting Mal know, the setting of the infirmary looms large around her, reminding her why she can’t.  All of a sudden, weights settle in at the corners of her mouth, dragging the smile from her face.

Simon’s still smiling at her, but his own turns hesitant, uncertain.  “Of course I won’t,” he says, probably seeking to cheer her up, not knowing the real reason for her sudden solemnness.  “I take doctor-patient confidentiality with the utmost seriousness.”

He tips his head to the side, urging her to get the joke, to laugh with him again, but the moment has fled.  _Doctor-patient confidentiality_ – the words expand in Inara’s mind, settle into that corner with all the other things she spends so much time trying not to think about.  The corner that is growing larger and larger every day, with every encounter with Simon.

She forces her words light, though the smile is gone for good.  “I never doubted it, Doctor,” she teases, but seriousness takes over, making the next words heavier than they should.  “Thank you.”

She leaves him looking confused in the infirmary, but suddenly, she needs to leave.  Needs to flee back to her shuttle, back away from the thoughts that are suddenly too present, too much.

_Confidentiality._

She needs to tell him.  And soon.

At least after today, she knows she can trust him.


End file.
